Unknowable Perfection
by Lomelindi
Summary: Against all odds, Tron is found after the events of Legacy. It takes a group effort to bring him back. Tron and Alan-centric, with a healthy dose of Yori and a helping of Sam and Quorra.
1. Chapter 1

**Title:** Unknowable Perfection  
><strong>Author:<strong> Lomelindi (firebird_88 on LJ)  
><strong>R<strong>**ating:** PG  
><strong>Characters<strong>: Tronzler, Alan, Yori, Sam, Quorra (later)  
><strong>Pairing: <strong>Established Tron/Yori, Paternal!Alan and Tron  
><strong>Synopsis:<strong>Against all odds, Tron / Rinzler is found after the events of Legacy. It takes a group effort to bring him back. Tron and Alan-centric, with a healthy dose of Yori.

**AN**: I wrote this mainly because there is simply NOT enough Alan / Tron interactions whatsoever in the fandom and in canon. Also, this story contains lots of speculation / artistic license taken with Yori's whereabouts before / during Legacy and with Tron's past with the ISOs.

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><p>When she first saw him from afar, Yori's circuitry almost crashed with shock.<p>

For a split second, she saw a mop of white hair against glowing black robes and thought that Kevin Flynn himself was walking toward her. _Impossible_. Every remaining Program knew that the Creator was gone, as was Clu and a good portion of Grid.

As the User Sam Flynn and his mysterious companion drew closer, Yori felt her shock dissolve into confusion, then into a surging wave of relief and bittersweet joy. Those piercing blue eyes, that proud nose, that gentle smile… She'd recognize that face anywhere, even if it was surrounded by white hair.

"Alan One," she breathed as they approached. _Oh __Tron_, she thought, _It __should __be __you __standing __here. __I __should __not __be __the __first __to __meet __your __User._

The white-haired User's eyes –beautiful and surprisingly clear despite his age- lifted and settled on her with no small amount of surprise. He glanced at Sam, whom nodded with encouragement, then back her. Approaching her cautiously as if afraid that she would turn and run away, the User broke into a warm smile that looked so much like Tron's that it hurt. "You must be Yori," he greeted, his voice almost a copy of Tron's but deeper and gruffer with age. He shook his head and chuckled, a sound that Yori found herself liking very much. "My God, you really do look like her."

_Her_. Lora Prime. Yori's circuits pulsated at the mere thought. After Clu destroyed communication towers left and right and cut the Grid off from the User world, Yori had given up on contacting her User and focused on surviving. This was the first she had heard any news of her User –direct or otherwise- in over a thousand cycles.

"Yes, I am," she managed, proud that she sounded more coherent than she felt. She stepped up to Alan One, unsurprised that he towered over her just as Tron did. "Greetings, Alan One," she intoned solemnly, "We are very glad that you're here."

Alan One's eyes lidded with sorrow. "I should've come sooner," he murmured, "If I had known about _any_ of this..." He trailed off, perhaps overwhelmed at the thought of what might have been. _Perhaps __none __of __this __would__'__ve __happened_.

Yori smiled despite herself. He really was like Tron, so quick to blame himself, to take responsibility for things that were out of his control. "You're here now. That's all that matters."

Sam stepped up, his usually bright face uncharacteristically grim. "We came as soon as Quorra got your message. Yori, where is he?"

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><p>"Where did you find him?"<p>

"Floating in the Sea." Yori said simply. "He was offline and very weak." So weak that they hadn't dared to move him lest he derezz between their fingers, but she left that part out. "We fed him liquid energy as best we could, and once he was stable, we moved him here."

"Who exactly is 'we'?" Alan One wondered, his eyes sliding over to the Programs that flitted busily past them. He knew none of them, of course, but they didn't look like the dangerous ones with red or orange circuits that Sam had described for him. They didn't look like the diagnostic Programs that were running around fixing the Grid, either. They just looked… different.

"The Resistance," Sam said, and was about to go on further when Yori interrupted him.

Turning, the female Program looked at them both sadly. "Not anymore. Now we are simply survivors."

She looked at Alan One with the weariness of one whom had seen one cycle too many. "Most of us were Programs from other systems, written by many different Users. We existed cycles before this Grid came into being. After the Purge of the ISOs, Clu turned on us. He was unfamiliar with our older, more foreign code so he thought of us as oudated Programs that needed to be destroyed to make room for new ones. Most of us fled or took on new identities. Only a few of us survived."

Sam looked uncomfortable. "Dad never mentioned you guys. He didn't know where any of you were," he said slowly, "If he had, I'm sure he would've tried to—"

"We do not blame you, son of Flynn," Yori said quietly. "Had _we_ been aware of Kevin Flynn's whereabouts, we might've tried to find him, but given how good CLU was at tracking, that would've been—"

"—dangerous," Sam finished with a sigh. "Clu could have traced any of you to Dad."

"Yes. We couldn't risk it."

"And you?" Alan One asked, watching Yori with eyes full of compassion and pity. "What about you, Yori? Lora lost contact with you back in the 80's."

The look in his eyes was painful to look at. Many cycles ago, Tron looked at her with the same sort of tenderness. Yori turned and continued down the hall, if only to tear herself away from that all-too-familiar gaze.

"I've been searching for Tron," she said simply, and left it at that.

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><p>Alan had been warned of the horrors that Tron had been through. He expected the worst –a half-destroyed program, perhaps, or one tied up and locked in a cell to prevent him from harming others. He wasn't even sure what state Tron was in, or what state a program COULD be in after all that he had been through.<p>

According to Sam, the last time he had seen the security program was when Tron –then Rinzler- had abruptly slammed into Clu's lightjet in a suicidal attempt to protect the Users. Against all odds, the security program had overridden almost 20 years of reprogramming to perform his most basic directive when he was needed the most.

That news made Alan both fiercely proud and sick to his stomach. _I __should__'__ve __been __there __for __him. __For __all __of __them._ Not for the first time, he regretted letting Sam investigate the page from Flynn's old arcade alone.

Yori stopped suddenly, and Alan almost walked straight into her back.

He peered cautiously beyond her shoulder and found himself suddenly incapable of breathing.

The hallway ended abruptly in a bare, circular chamber. A tall, lithe Program dressed in skin-tight black armor lay dead still on a floating platform in the middle of the room. The entire span of the platform pulsated with white light like a heartbeat, and the strangely-minimal circuits on the Program's body –consisting of no more than a few dots and streaks across his armor- glowed weakly with it.

Alan could not help but stare at that face. It was most definitely _his_, but judging by the smoothness of the skin and the darkness of the hair, Tron didn't look a day over thirty. _I'll be goddamned__._

A small hand gripped his wrist, hesitant and gentle. Alan jumped nonetheless and looked down to see Yori's hauntingly beautiful eyes watching him carefully. He was unnerved by how much her touch felt like Lora's and by how much his body instinctively relaxed at her touch.

"Come," the female Program said, tugging him forward with care. "He can't hurt you." _He could never hurt you, Alan One__._

Stunned, Alan allowed himself to be led to the platform. He found himself hovering by Tron's head, unnerved that the Program's eyes –as blue as his own—were vacant and wide open, staring up at some unfocused spot on the ceiling. He felt a stab of disappointment that there was no reaction whatsoever to his presence. No twitch, no blink, nothing.

"Is he-?" Sam started to ask, his voice tight as he circled the platform nervously. He was visibly tense, no doubt remembering how many times Tron –_Rinzler_, rather- had come close to killing him.

"Hibernating, or so we think," Yori answered quietly. Releasing Alan's wrist, she settled on the other side of Tron's head and reached out to stroke his hair gently. The gesture was instinctive and practiced, as if she had done this many times before. "We've tried to rouse him from it, but he won't boot. His body can't retain enough energy to even run his basic functions."

Not one for outbursts, Alan swallowed against a sudden wave of white hot anger that rippled through his body. _How did it come to this? _Tron was his program, his creation, _his_ responsibility. Clu -or anyone else for that matter- had _no right_ to mess with him.

Sam watched him clentch his fists. The eagerness on his face suddenly made him look very much like the child he had been before Flynn disappeared. "Can you fix him?"

The words hung heavily in the air.

Alan's eyes did a one-over on Tron's body, no doubt calculating the risk and complexity of such a task. Then they flickered upward, their blue irises brimming with fire and determination.

Sam _knew_ that look. He remembered that his father was often on the recieving end of it and would backpedal quickly as if his life depended on it. "Alan, BUDDY!" Kevin had protested once, laughing as he held up his hands in surrender, "Remember, murder is a federal crime. We're cool, right? _RIGHT_?"

The son of Flynn found himself grinning at the memory. "I figured as much," he chuckled. He motioned Alan over. "Come help me turn him. We'll need his disk."

**TBC**

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><p><strong>AN<strong>: I'm not a programmer, so please forgive any mistakes regarding computer terminology. Also, I am AWFUL at writing Sam Flynn. Just sayin'. :/

I COULD just leave it there, but I think I'll add one or two more chapters of Tron waking up and healing. At some point, I want to bring in Quorra since I have a slightly different theory about what the Quorra and Tronzler relationship would be like if they had ever met in some non-life-threatening situation.


	2. Chapter 2

**AN**: First off, WOW, I was not expecting this story to be as popular as it is. Thank you all for the support and the reviews! You guys are too kind!

I also apologize for the slow update, my real life went down the TUBES after I posted the first chapter. I ended up changing jobs (am still in the middle of that process) so my updates will be even slower than usual. Thanks for understanding!

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><p><strong>Chapter 2<strong>

Alan did not program like Kevin did. That was hardly surprising, considering how different the two men had always been.

Flynn was prone to spontaneous inspiration and fits of intense programming, only to be stuck in a phase of trial and error afterwards to fix any patches he had missed the first time around. He was a brilliant man and one of the best programmers Alan knew, but his eagerness to see the end result often made him careless.

Alan always took the slow and steady approach. His programming was solid, repetitive and –as Kevin sometimes described it- boring as all hell. Alan didn't see it that way. He saw himself as careful; he always made sure to triple read any patch of code before moving on to the next patch, and he always did another run-through before he shut the computer at the end of every working day. It took him much longer to create Tron than it took Kevin to create either Clus, mainly because he knew he was pitting his program against an MCP and took painstakingly care to make sure it was glitch-free before he activated it.

Sam noticed this and had wondered aloud if that was where his father had gone wrong with Clu. If Kevin had been less rushed to create a system administrator for the Grid, or perhaps less in love with the idea of having partners to help him, he may have taken more care in creating Clu. Compared to other Programs like Yori, Clu lacked the flexibility to be open-minded and feel compassion for Programs that were different from himself. Had that been due to carelessness on Kevin's part, or some strange, spontaneous evolution that any User had no control over?

Lost in thought, Alan barely noticed when the door hissed open. "Is it Lora?" he asked without looking up. His brows furrowed in concentration as his fingers flew across the code swirling around Tron's floating holographic face. "Damn, I probably missed dinner again. I suppose we'll have to tell her that—"

He paused, suddenly very much aware that the high-heeled boots he could see in his peripheral vision did _not_ belong to Sam Flynn.

He snapped to attention. "Hello, Quorra."

The dark-haired Program stood poised at the doorway, her hands balancing a tray of food that had no doubt been digitzied by Sam from the real world. Every ounce of her attention, however, settled on Tron and stayed there.

Alan immediately felt on edge. His eyes darted toward Tron's form, then back to Quorra. _Damn_. _Damn __damn __damn._ He had not prepared for this.

Sam had gone to great lengths to emphasize that Quorra was the _last_ ISO, the sole remnant of what Kevin had called "the Miracle". She had undoubtedly witnessed the Purge first-hand and -if her willingness to battle Clu and Rinzler was any indication- she knew whom was responsible for the death of her people.

"_Quorra_," Alan repeated, louder than necessary, "Is that for me?" He hoped he sounded more calm than he felt.

The ISO blinked and turned to stare at him, as if just noticing that he was in the room. "Ah, y-yes, of course," she said quickly. She carried the tray over carefully, visibly embarassed. "Sam said that you often forget to eat, so I brought you dinner."

"Thank you, that's very thoughtful of you." It took every ounce of Alan's self-control to keep his voice steady as he reached out to take the tray.

Instantly, Quorra's attention was gone again, like a cat that had discovered a new toy. She seemed unable to keep her gaze off of Tron and her eyes glinted with emotions that Alan could not read.

Alan found himself wondering just how easy it would be for her to reach back, unhinge her disk, take a few steps forward and- _No. __Not __on __my __watch. _If Sam's tales of Quorra's bravery were true, Alan knew he didn't stand a chance against a warrior hell-bent on avenging her people, but he wasn't going to stand by and do _nothing_. Besides, Tron was under his protection now, and Alan Bradley was not one to walk away from those that needed him.

"Quorra," he said again, keeping his voice as gentle and casual as possible, "Would you like to share my meal? There's more than enough here for both of us." He gestured toward the seat across the table.

Quorra was visibly surprised by the offer but nodded instantly, perhaps too polite to decline a meal with a User. Alan had a sneaking suspicion that she found comfort in the fact that he –with white hair and black robes- looked convincingly like Kevin Flynn, but he said nothing. If Kevin's influence meant that Quorra was going to listen to him than she would be otherwise, he wasn't going to complain.

Before the ISO could sit, the man held up one hand to stop her. "Your disk, if you will." Decades of practicing his poker face with Encom's board was the only reason Alan could keep a straight face. He didn't want to mislead Quorra because he found her innocence endearing, but she didn't need to know what was on his mind right now.

Quorra tilted her head, puzzled. "Why?"

Alan held up Tron's disk and made a show of turning it off before he settled it by his elbow. He reached around his own back and set his own disk on top of Tron's. "No work at the dinner table," he quipped with what he hoped was a convincing smile. _Lora would be so proud of me for saying that. _

Quorra gave him a long look, perhaps thinking that this was another bout of strange 'User logic'. After a tense moment, she handed over her disk without another word.

Alan internally sighed with relief as he took it. _That's one crisis taken care of_, he thought as he carefully moved the three disks out of the way. He made sure to keep them on his side of the table rather than Quorra's –not that he thought she would attack him outright, but because he simply couldn't risk it. _Not that it would slow her down,_ he grimly noted, _She'd be up and running before I'm even out of my chair._

Picking up his fork, he began to eat in silence. He was grateful to see Quorra following his example, but his relief soon turned to exasperation. The ISO still repeatedly glanced at Tron out of the corner of her eyes and was only half-focused on her food. Alan wasn't sure if it was because she was a positively dismal actress or because she simply wasn't bothering to hide the gesture.

Eventually, he sighed and adopted his best fatherly voice. "Do you want to talk about it?"

Quorra's head snapped around and she stared at him like a deer caught in deadlights.

Alan was unperturbed and continued to eat. He had enough experience with kids -particularly difficult ones like Sam- to know that an innocent face was usually the first sign of guilt.

Eventually, the ISO looked down at her plate, visibly discomfited. "I-I haven't seen him without the helmet on in... a very long time."

Alan's interest was piqued. "You knew him? Before... everything?"Strange, it was easy to forget that Quorra had existed on the Grid long enough to remember Tron before he became Rinzler. The ISO didn't speak much about that period of time, not even to Sam.

The ISO's smile was small but fond. "Yes," she confessed. "He was... kind. To me, to everyone."

_Of __course __he __was. _Alan felt a twinge of bittersweet pride. "Will you tell me about him?" he requested gently, "I'm obviously a few decades late."

Quorra seemed torn between confusion and sympathy. She had spent so long with Kevin Flynn that she often forgot that most Users do not know about and have never met their Programs.

Eventually, her eyes lowered to the table, distant and unfocused. "When we ISOs first came out of the Sea," she recalled slowly, "we wandered around the coast with no aim, no goal. Eventually, we banded together and headed toward the only light source we could see, which ended up being the foundations of Tron City. The first beings we met there were the Creator, Tron and Clu.

"We immediately knew that Flynn was different. It's like he was a... a blank void, a walking _emptiness_. We couldn't read him, couldn't sense him, couldn't even tell that he was there unless we saw him with our own eyes. I didn't know at the time that it was because he wasn't written in code."

"Is that what we feel like to Programs?" Alan mused aloud with a raised eyebrow.

Quorra nodded. "I remember being frightened of him, but he didn't give us a chance to run away. He was all over us in an instant," she remembered with a chuckle, "We didn't understand half the things he said, but we could tell that he was happy to see us. Tron came over next and he was," she struggled for words, "also _different_. Like us, but not like us."

"A Basic?" Alan offered.

"Yes, a Basic. He had a purpose, and his signature was clean, powerful. We didn't fear him like we did the Creator, and he was much kinder to us than Clu ever was."

The ISO suddenly looked bashful. "I thought he was so beautiful," she whispered, "I-I didn't realize that he was built to look like you."

Alan couldn't help but laugh. "I'll take that as a compliment."

Quorra grinned. "I wasn't the only one to feel that way. In the beginning, we ISOs liked Tron more than we liked Clu or Flynn. Flynn was confusing to be around and he disappeared often. Clu didn't like us from the start and didn't usually seek us out. Tron helped clothe us, taught us how to navigate the city and how to live on the Grid. He translated our needs to Flynn, because the Creator did not understand the basic needs of a Program without a purpose.

"Flynn explained to us later that Tron was a security program, one that was written to protect others and to fight for the Users. We didn't understand any of that, so we simply called him our Protector."

"The Protector, the Administrator, and the Creator," Alan mused wistfully. "What a trio those three must've been."

Quorra's smile widened. "It was quite fun to be around them back then," she agreed with a spark of child-like enthusiasm, "Flynn had the best stories about the User world and I learned a lot from watching Tron and Clu spar."

"They taught you how to fight?" Alan's eyebrows disappeared toward his hairline. The irony of that was just... too bizarre.

"Not Clu, no. He never willingly taught us anything." Quorra's voice was suddenly bitter, but the tone disappeared quickly. "But Tron taught us some basic things, like how to throw our disks. I was awful at it, but he was very patient. He didn't want us to be unprotected in case there was a gridbug attack and he was elsewhere."

Alan nodded with approval. He was becoming more and more fond of Tron by the minute, and he hadn't even had a word to share with the guy.

Quorra giggled, but the sound was quiet and wistful. "Tron used to call me 'the little troublemaker'. He knew I was prone to getting into trouble if he or the other ISOs weren't watching."

"Sounds like Sam, really," Alan chuckled.

The ISO looked pleased with the comparison. "Flynn said that, too! He said I was always where I shouldn't be, which is probably why-" She stopped suddenly.

Alan leaned forward, worried. "Quorra?"

The Program looked down at her lap, suddenly deathly quiet. "Which is probably why I survived," she finished softly.

Alan swallowed harshly. "I don't understand."

"I-I was trying to get into a meeting that I wasn't invited to. Radia -our leader- was there, because Flynn was going to name her Co-Administrator along with Clu. Tron saw me wandering around and sent a System Monitor after me to keep me out of trouble." She clenched her fists, as if the next few memories were particularly painful. "There was a virus attack in the middle of the ceremony. It was... so _sudden_. None of us saw it coming. I wasn't even sure what was going on before I started seeing infected ISOs and Basics everywhere. I saw Tron leading Flynn to the Portal and I followed them, since I thought they had a plan about what to do. They... were attacked by Clu and his goons along the way." Her voice shook and she had to take a deep breath before she continued.

"It was awful," she whispered, "I couldn't hear anything, but I saw Tron fighting the Black Guards as Flynn ran toward the Portal. Clu went after him, so Tron went after _him_. I've never seen them fight like that. They've sparred before, but that time, they were _really _fighting. Clu was trying so hard to get to Flynn, and Tron was hanging on to him, trying to hold him back. Then I saw a flash of light and... and suddenly it was just Clu standing there with his disk. Tron was at his feet and he wasn't moving."

Alan couldn't breathe. He had heard this story before from Sam, but it was entirely different hearing it from someone whom had actually been there.

"I-I remember screaming," Quorra continued, her eyes misted over with guilt and pain, "but I was too far away to help. The System Monitor held me back and...looking back on it, that probably saved my life. I would've been no match for Clu, not after what he had done to Tron."

_Not after what he did to Tron_. Alan closed his eyes and fingered the bridge of his nose. "You thought he was derezzed." _Everyone_ thought he was derezzed_._

"Yes," Quorra confirmed, heaving a sigh of guilt, "I don't think I had ever been so terrified in my life. Without Flynn, Tron was the strongest ally we had. Without him, we had... nobody. No one on the Grid was safe."

"I'm sorry," Alan said spontaneously, surprising even himself. He was unsure what he was apologizing for but feeling the overwhelming urge to say the words regardless. _I'm sorry that this happened to you. I'm sorry I didn't make Tron stronger. I'm sorry I wasn't there to help. I'm sorry that-_

Quorra stopped his train of thought by taking one of his hands and squeezing it with her own. Her brilliant eyes were no longer sad but sharp and fiercely determined. "No. Don't be sorry. You're here now, and you're trying to fix Tron. If you can do that, that will help fix what went wrong a thousand cycles ago."

Alan sat perfectly still, touched by her unwavering support. First Yori, now Quorra. Did they truly believe that he had the ability to fix everything, or was it their trust in Users that made them say such things? "Quorra, we Users are not infallible," he said slowly, squeezing her hands back, "I can't promise that this will go well. I never planned on Tron being corrupted by another Program, and I certainly never thought I'd be trying to 'fix' him thirty years after I first wrote him."

Quorra raised a dainty eyebrow, and suddenly Alan remembered just how dangerous she could be. "None of us thought he had survived the last thousand cycles, and yet he did that _and_ overrode Clu's reprogramming without any direct help from the rest of us. That isn't something every Program can do, and Tron isn't a Program that every User can write."

Alan was dimly amazed by her words. _Just who is lecturing who right now?_ He chuckled, pulling his hands away so that he could run them through his white locks. "Such blind faith. You kids will be the death of me, I swear."

Quorra frowned. "I certainly hope not."

"It's an expression."

"Ah." The ISO grinned. "So was 'no work at the dinner table' also an expression?"

Alan froze. "Pardon?"

"I wasn't going to hurt him," Quorra continued, her eyes twinkling with mischievousness, "but Sam warned me that you would be troubled about my being near Tron."

Alan groaned. _Sam Flynn, we are going to have a nice CHAT about your practical jokes._ "I thought it was a legitimate worry, yes," he sighed, attempting to salvage what he could of his dignity.

Quorra smiled gently. "So did Sam, at first," she admitted, "but I had to remind him that I lived with his father for a long time. Flynn fed me many stories about his adventures with Tron, and also those that he had with you."

Alan had the grace to look embarrassed. "I'm a boring man compared to Tron."

"No," Quorra said, shaking her head again. "I have only known you for a little while, Alan One, but everything I see in Tron, I see in you."

Alan was stunned into silence. "T-Thank you," he said eventually, his voice tighter than he would've liked it to be.

Quorra nodded, standing as she began to collect their plates of half-eaten food. She gracefully reached over to take her disk, returning it to its rightful place on her back. She seemed pleased that Alan had no protests. "I don't need any thanking," she said with her characteristic bluntness, "I only speak the truth."

Alan felt a shiver run up his spine. What was the phrase that Sam said his father used to describe the ISO's? _Profoundly naive, yet unimaginably wise. _

He watched as Quorra turned to leave without another word. _Yes. Very wise indeed_.

He looked down at the two disks remaining on the desk -one white and glowing, the other black and dim. The designs on both were practically identical. _Everything I see in Tron, I see in you._

Taking a deep breath, Alan reached out for Tron's black disk.

_Yes_. He could do this. He had to. He was the only one who could.

* * *

><p><strong>AN<strong>: And there you have it, my very random headcanon involving Quorra, the ISOs and Tron. I based parts of it off the comic Tron: Betrayal and the video game Tron: Evolution, especially the cut scene in Evolution where Tron dryly refers to Quorra as "someone who's looking to get into trouble". It's also shown in the video game that Quorra, along with the monitor program Anon (the player's character), witnessed Clu's coupe against Tron and Flynn.

I feel like the relationship between Quorra and Tron was more like a little sister / big brother complex (even if Quorra crushed on Tron a bit 'cause seriously, who wouldn't? lol). I had fun with the idea of Tron teaching the ISOs basics in fighting. Since he was such a powerful warrior and was probably also the oldest Program on Kevin's new Grid, he might've taken it upon himself to help the ISOs out.

Also, nicknaming Tron, Flynn and Clu as the Protector, the Creator and the Administrator was just too easy. I love catchy titles. :D I seriously think of these two as a weird version of the Three Stooges. Back in the day before Clu went beserk, they must've had crazy fun adventures together. THAT'S MY HEADCANON AND I'M STICKING TO IT.


	3. Chapter 3

**AN**: DUN DUN DUUUUN. I had a ton of fun writing this chapter. Hope you guys like it! Thanks again for all the reviews and love, I really appreciate the support!

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><p><strong>Chapter 3<strong>

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><p>Yori knew immediately that something had happened when she walked through the door.<p>

Alan One was staring into space, pale as a sheet with his hands gripping the edges of his chair so tightly that his knuckles were white. Tron's disk sat innocently on the table in front of him, dark and powered off.

Yori's attention quickly shifted to Tron, but the Program remained unchanged and unmoving on his platform. She looked back at Alan One, puzzled and growing increasingly worried. "Alan One?"

His gaze shifted to her, but he seemed at a loss of words and made no attempt to greet her.

Fighting a growing sense of panic, Yori considered turning around and running to contact Sam. Perhaps this was a User anomaly, like how Sam described an 'illness', or perhaps Users could break down just like Programs. "Alan One?" she tried again, approaching him carefully. "I brought an energy drink for you. Are you…" she bit her lip, searching for the right word, "well?"

"I saw him," Alan One said suddenly, as if he hadn't heard a word she said.

Yori's programming whirled away, trying to figure out which 'him' he meant. "Who?"

"Clu."

At this, Yori quickly set the energy drink down on the table before she dropped it. She sank to her knees beside the User's chair, overwhelmed by white-hot anger at the sound of that name. Her fists clenched in her lap. "_Where_?" She didn't even consider how illogical it was –part of her knew that Clu was gone forever, but part of her wanted to find him and tear him to shreds for what he had done to Tron.

Alan One's eyes, dimmer and darker than usual, settled on Tron's disk.

Yori suddenly understood. "You accessed his memory files," she whispered. She wasn't sure whether to be relieved and horrified. No one, not even her, had dared to touch Tron's disk after he had been found. That disk contained too many dark secrets. No one wanted to see Clu, metaphorically or otherwise, after ridding the Grid of him so recently.

"It was an accident," Alan One said, voice hoarse. "I touched something along the rim and... suddenly all these folders popped up. I wasn't sure what I was looking at so I picked one at random."

Compulsively, Yori reached out to set a comforting hand on his arm. Like all Programs, she was wary of touching Users, but he was so much like Tron both inside and out that it was easy for her to forget that he _wasn__'__t_ Tron. She couldn't bear to see either of them in pain. "What did you see?" she asked fearfully.

Alan One shook his head. "I-I'm not sure," he admitted, shaken, "Mostly just static and broken code. I mainly heard voices. At first, I thought it was Kevin but... Kevin didn't talk like that. He was never cruel."

Yori swallowed against a painful tightness in his throat. "What did you hear?"

Alan One placed a gentle hand on top of hers, and suddenly Yori wasn't sure who was trying to comfort who. "Screaming," he answered softly, "Tron was screaming."

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><p>"Oh, <em>hell <em>_no_."

Alan sighed and fought the urge to drop his head on the nearest hard surface. He was mentally exhausted, saw psychedelic code against his eyelids every time he closed his eyes and he like the weight of the world -or at least, the Grid- was on his shoulders. "Sam, I know it's not the ideal choice-"

"No shit," Sam crossed his arms stubbornly, and Alan braced himself for a fight. "You didn't see what he can _do_, Alan. He came _this _close to slicing off my head in the stadium and he didn't even break a sweat. Quorra couldn't get rid of him with _bombs_, and he almost decapitated me _again_ in the light jet when he took out our-"

"I get the point, Sam," Alan said dryly.

"Good, because that means I'm coming with you."

"_No, _you're not," Alan repeated.

Sam opened his mouth to protest, but his godfather fixed him with a stern look, one he often used when he caught Sam on the verge of creating trouble and wanted him to _seriously_ consider the repercussions. The young man squirmed under those steely blue eyes.

Near the doorway to Tron's room, Quorra and Yori shared an uncomfortable look. They were not used to Users disagreeing.

Alan took a deep breath and fingered the bridge of his nose. "Sam, you have to consider this from Tron's perspective. He's been forced to serve Clu for a thousand cycles. He's fought you _and_ Quorra _and _Kevin, not to mention countless other ISOs and Basics. Right now, the only people he hasn't fought is myself and Yori, and I'm the only one he's never met. The chance of him attacking me is much lower than him attacking any of you."

Uncomfortable silence greeted his words.

"I don't understand," Yori said eventually, her hands clasped nervously in front of her. With her hair swept up in a long braid and her bodysuit replaced by a flowing white dress with multi-colored circuitry, she looked smaller and more delicate than usual. The Program claimed that she wanted to look her best so that Tron could 'remember her', but now she looked less certain about the outcome. "You were not able to fix his code, Alan One?"

Alan looked away from her, feeling a familiar sense of guilt as if he had just upset his own wife and not her computer program. "Yes and no. Clu couldn't write code since he was a Program himself. He _could_ copy, delete and scramble existing code, which is -amongst other things- what he did to Tron. I re-wrote the glaring errors that I found, but my own memory is patchy. It's been at least twenty years since I've even _seen_ any of Tron's coding. I'm positive that there are parts that I've overlooked or didn't notice were missing."

"Will he-" Quorra hugged her elbows in a strangely human display of uncertainly, "-be Tron or Rinzler?" She gave him a meaningful look.

"I don't know," Alan admitted. "Maybe neither." _Or __maybe __both_.

The answer hung heavily in the air.

"Alan," Sam started hesitantly. He reached out and grabbed Alan's arm in a surprisingly tight hold. "I'm serious. I know this is usually your line, but be careful in there. I swear, if he _hurts_ you-"

_He__'__s __terrified, _Alan realized with a start, noting the distinct tremble in Sam's grip. _I__'__m __the __only __father __figure __he __has __left_.

Surprising the others in the room, he pulled the boy into a tight embrace. He hadn't hugged Sam like this in years, since the young man was prone to hiding from the world and running away from affection, but he never felt shame in doing it. "Worst comes to worst," the older man murmured gruffly, "you're welcome to run in there with guns blazing." He paused. "But _only_ in the worst of situations," he added quickly.

Sam looked flustered and embarrassed when Alan pulled away, but his shoulders were visibly more relaxed. "F-Fine," he sputtered, giving his godfather a gentle shove in Tron's direction, "Just remember that I'm telling Lora that this was your idea."

"I'm sure I already have a hell of a lecture waiting for me once I get home," Alan sighed.

He took a few steps into Tron's chamber and knelt, placing his free hand on the ground. Glittering white code rose from the floor behind him, cutting him off from his companions and quickly filling the entire void of the hallway from the bottom up. On Alan's side, it became a blank, smooth wall like the rest of the chamber, but on Sam's side, it became a one-way window.

Sam let out a breath he didn't know he was holding. He could break down the code for this fake 'wall' easily –Alan left it that way on purpose- but it was clear that his godfather didn't want interruptions.

Yori and Quorra quickly stepped up, eager to watch.

The older Program rested her fingertips against the window, her bright eyes filled with curiosity and anxiety. "I don't want them hurt," she whispered. "Either of them."

Quorra wrapped a supportive arm around the smaller Program's shoulders. "We must have faith in Alan One," she said quietly. _We must have faith in the Users._

"Quorra." Sam's eyes met the ISO's over Yori's head. His lips were drawn into a grim line. "If it came down to it and we had to fight Rinz-er, _Tron_, what are the chances that we'd win?"

The ISO tilted her head as she swiftly calculated the possibility. "How specific of an answer do you want?"

Sam was faintly amused that she had picked up a sense of humor from the human world. "Not very."

"Low," Quorra answered bluntly. "Very, very low."

* * *

><p><em>Well,<em> Alan thought, studying Tron's disk one last time, _here __goes __nothing._ He placed his hand under Tron's shoulder and lifted carefully. He slid the Program's disk into its port and heard a now-familiar _beep _when the disk clicked into place.

Instantly, the healing platform underneath Tron's body switched from a rhythmic pulsation to a steady, blindingly white glow. The circuitry on Tron's armor went completely dim for a split second (Alan's heart jumped to his throat at this) before suddenly flickering to life, line by line.

It was a beautiful sight.

A smile blossomed on Alan's face when he noticed that the "T" at Tron's throat was now shining brightly in white. _Welcome __back_, _kid._

* * *

><p><strong>[System Startup Requested.]<strong>

Energy. It had none stored, so it searched for it. Desperately. _Hungrily_.

There. _Below_. There was energy underneath it, beautiful and warm and so very tangible.

It reached out, not with limbs but with its core. Code aligned with code, and suddenly, there was power.

[**Startup ****Sequence ****Initiated.]**

It was a strange feeling, to simply come into being before one's mind could understand the concept of existence. To exist without thoughts, commands, or a sense of self was like being a void.

Empty. Simply there and nothing more.

**[System ****Diagnostic ****Check ****Initiated.]**

Hands. Feet. Arms. Legs. Torso, hips, neck, head.

All intact, despite lingering damage. Nothing was at maximum strength, but everything was functional and that was all that mattered.

**[Designation Requested.]**

Male. Strong, tall and powerful. Built for battle.

But his identity? His circuitry hummed at this command. The void inside of him was troubling. _Why __did __he __not __know?_

He dove deep inside himself. Memory files were systematically opened, scanned, and filed away at speeds that a human brain could not comprehend.

Voices came to him then, each calling him many things - the Champion, the Protector, the Enforcer, the Hunter.

The term "Rinzler" came up multiple times. It felt familiar to him, so he offered it to the command.

**[**_**ERROR**__. _**Designation ****Requested.]**

Incorrect.

He dove deeper into his core.

_There_. That was the earliest memory he had, the first command he had ever obeyed.

_[This is Alan_1. Designation Requested.]_

_[This is TRON-JA-307020. System Online.]_

**[Designation Accepted. Directive Requested.]**

His memory files told him that he once had many, but when he searched through his core, he found only a few left within his coding. He had been changed. Modified. Rewritten.

He didn't question it. There would be time for questions later. _Find __the __original __directive_.

He searched. He knew that the "Alan_1" from his earliest memory was key, so he filtered for commands containing that term.

One popped up quickly, a memory file that was stored shortly after the first.

[_TRON-JA-307020, __this __is A__lan_1. __Directive __Requested.]_

_[I fight for the Users.]_

**[Directive Accepted. Reboot Complete.]**

Outside, Alan watched as Tron's open eyes flickered white.

**[System Online.]**

* * *

><p><strong>AN<strong>: I was going to write more of this chapter, but it was getting too long (for my tastes) and the next scene is obviously going to be a bit complicated. Please don't kill me over the cliffie or my made-up programming commands. ;A; Thanks for reading! Love you all!


	4. Chapter 4

**AN: **So sorry for the delay! Thanksgiving and the resulting family gatherings and tirps has totally hijacked my life. Also, this chapter did NOT want to write itself. But without further ado, here are Tron's first waking moments. :p

* * *

><p>"<em>I fight for the Users!"<em>

_Fire. Agony. An explosion so loud that it rocked him to his core._

**[WARNING. Significant Damage Sustained.]**

_He was falling, aimless and alone._

_Wait, not alone._

There_, a flash of gold and black above him._

_Clu. _

_The battle wasn't over yet._

_With considerable effort, he twisted until he managed to right himself in midair. His hand reached for his spare light jet baton just in time for Clu to descend upon him, raining blows that caused explosions of glaring red errors to flash across his vision._

[**WARNING. ****Critical ****Damage ****Sustained.]**

_His battle instincts clawed to the forefront of his scrambled mind and he lashed out instinctively, fighting with what little strength he had left. They fell, tumbling head over heels through the howling wind, pushing and shoving each other with desperation. _

_The baton was wrenched from his fingers. _

No!_ He grabbed at thin air but was rewarded with a powerful kick to his head._

_His vision filled with static, flickered once, then went blank._

**[Shutdown Sequence Commenced.]**

_He fell into nothingness. _

_The Sea embraced him, smothering him from all directions with its virus-tainted code. _

_He was drowning._

* * *

><p>With a heaving gasp, Tron lashed out with his hands. <em>Clu. <em>_Falling. __DANGER._

"Whoa!" someone called, far too close to his head for comfort, "H-hey, calm down. I'm not going to- Wait, don't do that!"

He automatically tried to roll away from the intruder, but he fell a short distance instead. The sensation of his knees and hands slamming into cold ground was like a jolt of white-hot electricity shooting through his body.

_Pain_. He was _alive_.

Tron kicked into overdrive. He scrambled backwards, disoriented and overwhelmed by the rapid input of sound, color and touch. Everything was too bright, too loud, too _much._ His back hit a solid wall and he pressed himself flat against it, feeling its cold, unfamiliar code slide against his armor and his skin. It yielded nothing but blank information.

New. Everything was new.

He didn't know this place.

The Program looked around frantically, squinting against the bright white of the room. No sea. No Clu. No sky. Worst of all, he didn't immediately find an exit.

"Hey, it's alright. It's going to be okay." That voice again, soft and gentle as if talking to a child. "Take it easy, I'm not going to hurt you."

Tron snapped his head toward the source of it.

A tall figure in a sleek black robe swam into view, its hands raised and opened in the universal sign of appeasement. Tron instinctively raced through his memory files –the face staring back at him matched none of the millions stored in his mind, but it was familiar nonetheless. _Hauntingly _familiar, in fact, like looking into a faulty mirror.

Tron froze.

Every line of code within him felt magnetically drawn to the stranger. It was a distinct and bizarre sensation, but a part of him knew that he had felt it before. It was the same sensation that used to call him to the I/O towers all those cycles ago.

_I know you._

He wanted to say so, but instead of words, a weak, electronic growl escaped his throat. It startled both of them.

"Sorry about that," the stranger said, cringing, "I thought I fixed that issue. Here, let me-" He took a step forward with outstretched hands.

Tron recoiled and growled again, this time sharper and louder.

The hands shot up again, and an apologetic grin –crooked, just like his own- flashed across the other's aged face. "Sorry. I'll just… stay over here then. Is that okay?"

Tron struggled to work around the strange purr in his throat. "Identify," he rasped out. His original voice was intact, but barely so. It had been severely neglected in the last thousand cycles.

"Alan Bradley," the stranger answered, with the ease of someone who had nothing to hide.

Tron's internal processes grinded to a halt. He _knew_ that name, even though he had never once met this being in his life. "Alan One?" he whispered.

Those blue eyes wrinkled with pleasure. "Yes."

Tron's knees buckled.

"What-Oh no, no groveling." Alan One's hands reached out again to steady him, and this time, Tron didn't fight them off.

His User's grip on his arms was solid and warm, but most notably, it was gentle.

With a start, Tron realized that he hadn't felt a gentle touch in over a thousand cycles. He had spent that entire time lost in the heat of battle, touched by nothing but the blows of desperate Programs trying to escape deresolution at his hands. Aside from Clu, who sometimes patted him on the shoulder for a job well done or tweaked his code to make him more obedient, more _perfect_, no one else had dared to touch him.

Now he wasn't even sure how to react to a touch that wasn't meant to hurt him.

His alarm and confusion must've shown on his face because Alan One loosened his hold until he was barely holding Tron up by the elbows. "It's alright," the User repeated quietly, with great care and patience, "It's just me, Tron. I'm here. I'm not going to hurt you."

_Alan __One __is __here. _It was all Tron ever wanted, but after so long –_so __much-_he hadn't dared to dream that his wish would ever come true.

Hands trembling, the Program reached out and gripped Alan One's forearms like his life depended on it. He felt the sudden, overwhelming urge to cry. There was so much he wanted to say, so much that he had _always_ planned on saying, but memories and emotions jumbled together in his mind and he found himself at a complete loss of words. _I __lost. __I __failed __you. __I __needed __you. __Where __were __you?_

"I'm… so sorry," he choked out, unsure where to even begin.

Alan One's eyes softened. "I know you are."

Tron shook his head, rejecting the forgiveness in those words. He didn't deserve forgiveness, not now, not ever. "F-Flynn?" he whispered. The last thing he remembered was slamming into Clu's jet and fighting with the Administrator in mid-air. Maybe his distraction had been enough, maybe Flynn had made it to the Portal and-

Alan One's eyes shifted away. "Sam made it," he answered quietly.

The implication that Kevin didn't was clear.

Tron went down like a brick. _No. __No __no __no._

The pain of his knees hitting the ground barely registered, but he was suddenly aware that Alan One was crouched over him like a protective parent. The User hesitated for the briefest of moments before he was everywhere -around Tron, over him, _holding _him with tenderness that the Program hadn't felt in a thousand cycles.

Tron didn't even realize he was crying until he heard a sob mixed in with his own distinct growl. He clung to Alan's robes until he was sure he was ripping the coding apart with his bare hands. "I tried… I couldn't- Clu, he took… We fought…"

Alan One's voice, deeper and gruffer than his own, poured over him like a soothing balm. "I know," he murmured, "I know everything, Tron."

_Everything_.

Everything he had done, not done, and should have done.

The shame was overwhelming.

Tron was suddenly painfully aware of all that he had not able to access while under Clu's control –his earliest memories with Yori and Ram, the identities of every ISO and Basic he had befriended and once protected, stories of a strange and unfamiliar world that Kevin Flynn had gleefully shared. Those older, happier memories were quick followed by newer ones he had created as Rinzler –memories of the same faces of those he once knew contorted in fear and pain as he descended upon them, obeying and hearing nothing but Clu's commands in his ears.

One face stood out from the rest -the look of horror and dawning realization on Kevin Flynn's face as the User peered up at him through the cockpit window of a light plane. There had been fear and anguish in those aged eyes.

"_Tron, what have you become?"_

"P-Please," Tron whispered through gritted teeth, shutting his eyes tightly. Grief flooded him from within, so sharp and painful that it felt like he was being physically stabbed. Even his User's calming presence could not keep it at bay.

"Please what?" Alan One's gentle voice asked.

_Make __it __stop. __Make __it __all __stop._"Please, derezz me."

Alan One's entire body stiffened.

Tron lowered his face, not wanting to see the User's expression. He didn't deserve the other's pity, nor his kindness. After everything he had done, he deserved nothing more than to be derezzed by the hands that created him. It would be a fitting end for the monster he had become.

There was a gentle hand on his chin, forcing him to look up. He did so reluctantly, if only because he could deny Alan One nothing.

There was, surprisingly, no shame or anger on the User's face. Instead, the man looked puzzled and a bit hurt at the request. "Tron, why would you ask that of me?"

The answer came swiftly from Tron's lips and sounded cold even to his own ears. "I betrayed the Users. I betrayed Flynn, the ISOs, my own friends." He swallowed. "I have not stayed true to your programming."

Alan One's brow furrowed. "No."

The answer was so firm and resolute that it made Tron cringe. He released Alan One's robes and curled his hands in his lap guiltily. "…Reprogramming then?" To him, that was a fate worse than deresolution, but he deserved nothing better. It would be easy for Alan One to rewrite him, wipe his memories clean, and start anew. It was the coward's way out, but surely it was the only option left.

"No, you misunderstood me." Alan One settled a hand on Tron's head, as if to stop the Program from overthinking too much. "I won't be reprogramming you or derezzing you or doing anything of the sort."

Tron looked up, startled. This was his punishment then? To live with this feeling of guilt and overwhelming grief forever? "I am corrupted," he stated slowly, "I cannot fulfill my purpose."

"Can't, or won't?" Alan One asked.

Tron was silent.

His User eyed him critically. "I programmed you to fight for the Users, Tron. You've done that and so much more, and at great personal risk. In my world, a sacrifice like that is considered admirable." He set a hand on Tron's shoulder and squeezed it warmly. "I didn't program you _win_ every battle, so if you think that you've let me down, you couldn't be further from the truth."

Tron clenched his fists. "But Flynn…" he choked out.

"You bought him enough time to get Sam to the Portal," Alan One answered gently, "A parent can ask for nothing more than the safety of their child. I'm sure he was grateful."

Tron swallowed against the tightness in his throat. "Did he… Did he die alone?" he whispered fearfully. Kevin had been there for Ram's deresolution. The least Tron could do was return the favor, but it seemed like he was too late. He was ALWAYS too late.

Alan One hesitated. "I suppose that depends on your definition of alone," he said quietly.

Tron suddenly _knew_. "Clu," he spat, unable to keep the venom from his voice. His electronic growl spiked with the name, and his User visibly flinched from the sound. "Clu killed Flynn, didn't he?"

To Tron's surprise, Alan One shook his head. "Actually, Kevin took Clu down with him." The User gave a dry smile. "I believe that's something he learned from you."

Tron froze. After serving and living under Clu's regime for so long, this news was… unthinkable.

"He's gone, Tron," Alan One repeated, emphasizing each word with care, "He can't hurt you or anyone else anymore. I promise."

Tron slumped bonelessly against the wall. He felt weak with relief, but to his surprise, he also felt a sudden sense of loss. Clu may have tortured, reprogrammed and derezzed countless of Programs (Tron included), but in the early days of the Grid, he had also been a close friend. Even during his involuntary stint as Rinzler, Clu had been his constant (and only) companion. For better or for worse, they had been partners through the best and worst of times.

Now Clu was gone. Kevin was gone. Ram and thousands of innocent ISOs and Basics were gone.

Tron dropped his face into his shaking hands. He had never felt so alone, so _broken_, until now. Why did he survive when so many others perished? "What... What should I do now?" he whispered, voice small and broken.

A warm, strong hand settled on his head and stayed there, offering much-needed comfort. "Live, Tron," Alan One answered simply. "It's that simple."

"Command complete," Tron sighed bitterly, "I survived."

"Living is not the same as surviving," Alan One answered, not unkindly. "Living takes purpose, and you Programs have an advantage over Users in that department."

Tron's eyes lifted, tentative and unsure. "Users do not have a purpose," he stated.

"True," Alan One agreed. "We aren't born with instruction manuals or a troubleshooting guide. Sometimes, we spend our whole lives looking for something worthwhile to make of our existence. But for us, that _search_ is enough. For you, I suppose _fulfilling _that purpose is what drives you. It's an admirable trait, and one you shouldn't lose."

Tron remained miserably quiet as he mulled this over. "Did you find it?" he croaked after a long moment of silence.

"Find what?"

"Your purpose?"

The edges of Alan One's eyes crinkled with a pleased grin, as if he was expecting that question. "I found plenty of them." He reached up and unhinged his disc from his back, then pressed a button along the inner rim and passed it to Tron.

Confused, Tron took it reverently and watched as a brilliant hologram, blurred and muffled as only a User's memory could be, flickered to life above it. He could make a tired-looking blond female laying against what looked like a soft, white surface. Her face surprised him. _Yori_? No, she looked a bit older than Yori, and rounder as well. She had her arms curled around a tiny creature laying on her chest, laughing and cooing at it despite her evident exhaustion.

"That's Jet, my son, and Lora, my wife," Alan One explained quietly, watching the memory with fond, misted-over eyes, "This is the day Jet was born."

Tron was speechless. He had never seen a User's intimate memory before. Kevin never offered to show any and Tron never thought to ask. For Alan One to willingly share such a precious moment of his personal life made the Program feel privileged and honored.

Lora (or rather, Lora Prime as Tron's memories reminded him) looked up as a new figure joined her on the side of bed. This one was distinctly male with a large black jacket and a mop of brown hair. He held another small - but not as small as Jet- creature in his arms, one who was visibly squirming in excitement.

"_Look, __Sam_," the male laughed, "_Look __at __the __little __tyke. __You __were __that __small __once, __you __know? __Man, __this __brings __back __memories_."

_Kevin_. Tron's throat tightened. He hadn't seen Kevin so young and happy in a long time. It was painful.

"_But_ _Dad,__ he__'__s __wrinkly!_" Sam complained, which brought a wave of laughter from the other Users in the room.

"_Yeah, __well, __once __he__'__s __a __bit __older, __he__'__ll __stop __looking __like __a r__aisin_."

"_Lovely_," Alan One's voice –younger and nearly indistinguishable from Tron's- chimed in from deep within the disc itself, "_You __just __called __my __son __a __raisin. __I__'__m __contemplating __taking __away __your __godfather __rights right __now_."

"_Dear_," Lora Prime laughed, trying to sound stern but failing, "_As __if __you__'__d __trust __anyone __else __with __Jet_."

"_I __don__'__t __know. C__onsidering __how m__any t__ime __he__'__s __almost __dropped __Sam, __I __think __my w__orries __are __well-founded_."

"_Hey_!" Kevin protested, "_That time with the motorbike was an accident! Sam just wanted to sit on my old Harley, that's all."_

_"The _seat_ was bigger than he was, Kevin,"_ Alan One's younger voice shot back, "_You should have know better_."

"_It didn't hurt... much_," Sam chimed in meekly.

"_See_?" Kevin snorted and turned toward Lora Prime and her tiny son. "_Don't worry, Jet. Your dad's a boring sourpuss, but Uncle Kevin's got you covered. I'll teach you the ropes on how to be_ really_ cool."_

"_Kevin_..." Alan One growled, but there was no malice in his tone.

Tron found himself smiling despite the burning tears in his eyes. That was definitely the Kevin he remembered. Even on the Grid, the excitable User wasn't the most… graceful of individuals, but that was part of his charm. If it wasn't for Clu's watchful eyes or Tron's fast reflexes, he probably would've fallen off a solar sailer trying to wave at someone down below a long time ago.

Lost in thought, the Program almost didn't notice when Alan One's memory faded away, leaving him staring into the empty space over the other's white disc. He lifted his gaze and found the man watching him intently from the other side of the disc.

"They're my purpose, Tron," the User said slowly, "All of them. Lora, Jet, Sam, Kevin. Even Encom, to a degree. And now, you."

Tron felt a strange fluttering in his gut, like a confusing mixture of embarrassment and something he hadn't felt in a long time –_joy_. He was _wanted_.

The warmth in Alan One's eyes was contagious. "Chin up, kid. There will always be things worth living for. You just have to find them."

**TBC**

* * *

><p><strong>AN:<strong> I debated whether or not to make Tron cry, but I settled on doing it. When Kevin apologized to Clu at the end of Tron: Legacy (one of my FAVORITE scenes ever, by the way), Clu reacted with anger and stubbornness, rather like a child. For Tron to react with grief and shame when his own User has a heart-to-heart with him emphasizes how different he is from Clu.

OH. And Jet Bradley. Er, well, I know he only exists in Tron 2.0 and he's supposedly a year older than Sam, BUT since Tron 2.0 is a parallel universe to the canon Tronverse (and therefore inaccurate and rather strange), I'm changing some facts around. :D Roll with it?

And as always, thank you all SO MUCH for the support! Thanks for liking the story so far!


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